Rearmament
by tremor3258
Summary: Set several months after 'Officer Exchange' and for the Unofficial Literary Challenge 20, science officer Thraak returns, at least Dahar Master D'ellian hopes so.


Rearmament

By tremor3258

Timeline: About seven months after 'Midnight'. Set for the official forum's _un_ official ULC 20 – 'Enter the Boff'.

This is set after 'Officer Exchange', where Thraak heads off to serve on a Starfleet vessel for a period as an exchange officer.

* * *

Drozana station had been a useful 'neutral' point for smuggling and resupply as the Klingon War had entered its final phase of raid and counterraid. With the end of hostilities, its owners had actually spent some money upgrading the place as it became a legitimate trade-hub. Dahar Master D'ellian of M'ara took a deep breath, something that had previously been unwise, and smiled as the transporter beam released her. Someone had actually upgraded the filters, and it had the proper metallic topaline tang of an old-style recycling system instead of the body-odor of hundreds of visitors.

Even without the must, it was still a long way from a proper legitimate trade hub, with say, Alliance customs agents. The Lobi Consortium found such things inconvenient, at this time. Other such inconveniences were questions about certain good origins, and these questions were considered inconvenient by enough smaller groups to keep Drozana afloat.

The Orion next to her – big, bulky, and a healthy deep green, sniffed at the air in some disgust. They were both, technically, clad in furs. He in the heavy vest and bracers of a successful mid-level buccaneer, and D'ellian wore the full uniform of a KDF general, polished, and enhanced in some subtle ways for comfort and surprises. Neither uniform was unknown here. One was a mere costume.

The big Orion asked, "This is the great smuggling port? Where are the silks? The rare art? This is a rusty hole."

She looked at her evaluation goal/chauffer/brother, and restrained a sigh, carefully. "Vert," she said calmly, "Rusty is exactly right – this is the graveyard of warriors. The Lobi even deals in ship hulks; if you're interested in upgrading."

"A pack of mad dogs could run the _Glory_ ," Vert said stiffly. And they more or less did, in D'ellian's opinion. "The Dacoit's well proven, and not _everyone_ in the family has completely surrendered to the Klingons. Why wait weeks for custom fitting or having parts shipped work when any Syndicate shipyard can turn it around in a day, and crew wait in every port?"

"Yes," D'ellian murmured quietly, pitched to not carry, "And yet there are so many days where the _Glory_ is nonetheless in dock." Vert glared, knowing something was up. Louder, she spoke, "Nonetheless, there is no one better in the quadrant for violence than the Klingons, and I have learned their ways. Mother awaits _my_ word if you are to be moved from salvaging wrecks and intimidating colonies to more risky ventures." It would never be given of course; that was understood by all but Vert. Given what was left of the great powers' fleets, and the new technology rolled out, the Dacoit would be child's prey to even the meanest line frigate.

Vert rolled his eyes. "As she made very clear before letting me taxi you out here," he said. "Which I still hope for a clear answer from one of you on: why not a shuttle or some other ship instead of joining our patrol? An inspection crew didn't need to be such a long run. Even if you're detached on 'House business'."

General D'ellian replied, "Two reasons." Three. "From a House perspective, monitoring of the economic recovery and forecasting changes of the coreward colonies is very important to our interests. From an Imperial interest, the reconnection of those colonies to the capital is vital." And third, she thought privately, the mercenary soldiers she'd coordinated during the war still had a few on her payroll, and some intelligence shouldn't be sent over subspace.

"And it's easy to fake an inspection for a few hours – a couple weeks of operation give a better view of what your ship is part of – and you had another bridge officer to stand watch who wasn't taking a share," D'ellian said. Vert nodded at that.

"Not many qualified people who haven't been snapped up," he mused. "You're lucky to keep your crew together."

"They've been terrorizing a bunch of Academy last-years for six months, and getting double pay while the _Demonslayer_ gets refitted," D'ellian said, "And it's not like they have to pay for drinks, either – not many veterans around."

Vert said, "And Jm'pok's out of options so he's giving you the expedition fleet to help out against the Terrans in the Badlands. Your crew's busy readying to be flag staff"

D'ellian nodded, deliberately enthusiastically. After the last few weeks in the opium den of the guest quarters on the _Glory_ , she hadn't thought he'd get there were more professional awards than pay.

But the Iconian War, the Vaadwaur conflict, the Federation-Klingon war, they were finally done – the realignment of interests and filling the various financial and political vacuums had kept her occupied and away from _Demonslayer_ during its refit, as well as selecting the squadron. Now as equivalent to a _Kurak_ , it would be joining her here with a small squadron to support the Federation against raiders from a bizarrely barbaric alternate reality.

Here made sense, it was close to Federation space. The requirements of an armed force across Federation space – requiring an escort, red-tape, subspace tracking, etc., could be handled without the press. So when they suddenly arrived at the Bajoran sector in a flair of drama, all the realities of concern of a previously hostile power moving across unsettled power would be under the run, leaving only a shadowplay of valiant Imperial heroics.

"I don't think Jm'pok was out of options as a flag officer capable of handling the nuances of the Federation's usual gaggle of species," D'ellian said politely. She stopped at one of the tables, examining. There was one other reason here, but it didn't concern Vert. Vert stopped, apparently out of politeness.

"Staves?" he asked.

"Herald antiproton weaponry, good sir," the Ferengi proprietor said, obsequiously. "Genuine molecular signatures are on file – recovered from a Federation colony world that was, ah, generous with salvage rights to our hearty traders." He gestured, and said, "All of these have been tested and retain power – alternate power packs are available for a small upcharge."

"Yes, I had a package ready," D'ellian said calmly. Vert started.

"Ah, yes – biometric scan, just a moment," the Ferengi said, touching a control. "Welcome, Dahar Master, we appreciate your business and hope you will spread word of your service" he said, somehow cringing even more. "Let me just signal…" a discreet panel opened, revealing a far better kept store room than Drozana's usual rusting place. A burly Nausicaan came out, carrying a gift-wrapped thin stave. She accepted it, gingerly, with just a nod.

"Present?" Vert asked.

D'ellian said, "Yes, a bit of a recruitment gift for later. Though, one thing you missed here – it's all salvage, yes?" Vert nodded. "This is where seventy-four percent of all Tholian silk enters Imperial space. And I know you still haven't gotten her a 'thanks for the ship' bribe – really, there's a propriety."

Vert sighed, "Yes, yes – I will see you later? Is there anywhere safe to eat here?" D'ellian shrugged.

"My ships will be here soon, you'll be welcome to dine. If you can move past the _gagh_ , I can promise a proper repast after my crew's drunken themselves down," D'ellian said. Vert laughed, accepting the brush-off.

* * *

D'ellian moved to the most traditional point to meet a returning shipfarer – the main bar on the station. She found herself double-checking her surroundings and forcible gripped the table to stop herself. Confidence was required, as a Dahar Master. And there would be no problems. Because there was _four_ reasons to delay her rendeavous. Her science officer's liaison tour had not quite been ready when it looked like her schedule was ready to take command, and from a personal and professional perspective, she wanted her friend at her side when facing multi-dimensional threats.

A little discrete horse-trading with Intelligence had altered the schedule and gotten the ship Thraak was serving on assigned as her warden when they travelled the transwarp network.

Finally, the scheduled time – with practiced ease she drank up the lights and noise, and spotted the Gorn, standing once again in KDF leathers, though with eye shields sensibly in. Next to him stood a lean Betazoid in a Starfleet bodysock, standing with their typical neutral posture – though wincing a little against the sensorium. She'd gutted a few during the war – psychics just didn't handle distractions well.

She left the staff under the table as she stood, and did not show her surprise when a third stepped onto the floor by them, not in Starfleet or KDF uniform. Also, an instectoid species, rare to see them travelling the stars, especially alone, though the shape wasn't leaping out as familiarity.

"Dahar Master," Captain Vexa said with a sharp salute. D'ellian returned, fist to chest, and gave a nod as well. Captain Vexa and her crew had spent much of their time helping the Empire avoid some embarrassment, preventing arms traffic to Gorn separatist groups. She studied Thraak as best she could, while keeping her mind still.

As always, he was practically opaque to her training, and even years of serving together had helped only a little at reading his body language. Reptilians simply didn't move in the same basic way as mammalian humanoids, and he could play the statue fairly well. And he knew it bothered her, which made it worse.

"Thank you for returning Commander Thraak intact, Captain Vexa," she said. "I hope his service was as valuable to you as it has been to me." She reached under the table at that point, presenting the staff. "Small tribute," she said, "Of your effort during the Iconian War – a reminder and trophy of those dark times."

He was obscure, yes, but she knew Gorn customs, as a warrior race. There was in the age of holograms and faster-than-light, still a love of trophies, loved almost as much by the Gorn as land.

"Many thanks," Thraak said, taking the staff gently. "A potent

"He's a remarkable officer," the Betazoid said politely, dark eyes gleaming despite the strain she was under. "Thanks in large part to the team he's built, we're being moved to detached duty to highlight our improved science department." Thraak waved a hand dismissively.

"Starfleet simply recognized the talents of your individuals, my job was primarily organization," he rumbled, holding his gaze on D'ellian. "We have much to talk about Dahar Master. First, may I introduce Leader Darta, of the _Mchwa_. He was involved in providing protection for freighter groups during the Iconian War, but afterward, _political realities_ meant the termination of his contract."

"His hive operates on board an escort ship," Captain Vexa said politely. "Thraak thought you might find a use for his warriors, as the Alliance allows such troops transfers, and the economic realities may benefit them more there."

Darta clicked his mandibles and gave a short bow, before talking – apparently Xindi had some sort of pheromone or body-language component, her translator couldn't give a direct overlay. "Greetings, Dahar Master. Our Hive has served well, but Starfleet's ability to provide additional system defense ships after the wars have limited our options. The Commander recommended you could buy our contract out to avoid the risk of dissolution."

D'ellian looked at Thraak. He _might_ be grinning, or that was simply his face. She had often mentioned she was looking into more carrier wings – they made good convoy escorts by being able to cover more angles.

"A fortunate coincidence that the _Mutara_ came across them when they were needing employment," Thraak said.

"I'm sure the House of Mara or the KDF can find a use for a starship they did not have to pay to construct," D'ellian said smoothly. The negotiations were, a bit rougher than that, but at least smoothed with alcohol.

* * *

As soon as possible, in deference to Thraak's preferred tolerances of noise and light over hers, they'd headed to a small room with supposedly bought privacy and some comfort, like its own air fresheners, as well as a few extra devices from various engineering friends to annoy the remaining listening devices.

Thraak had not put the staff down during negotations, but finally set it carefully next to the chair.

"I have not heard much of the Empire's internal politics. Jm'pok has done a good job keeping things sequestered," Thraak said at last. "But silence speaks volumes. Are things so dire my credentials require establishing?"

"No, not on any ship I'm captain or owner of," D'ellian said, surprising herself slightly with her own vehemence. "No, the Gorn counsel is retained in the Great Hall of the Klingon Empire. The separatists have been quiet, but the opportunity for reform after so many were allowed to be great by necessity has quieted the moderates."

"You will not hear from them again, on any scale," Thraak said. "The virtues of our cultures that have allowed such a profitable assimilation into the Empire, can be vices if taken to extremes. Such aggression, admirable in tales, finds itself difficult to govern without assistance. They have been encouraged to find glory in more personal combat. Many have succeeded beyond their wildest expectations."

"You found honor there?" D'ellian asked.

"With Starfleet yes. A warship is a warship, in spite of their pretensions. There are certain commonalities of operation," the Gorn said. "This was a mission that could easily lack in honor – there was much use of uncommon assets, but a telepath has a knack for distinguishing them. The differing emphasis on investigation we knew about, as many times as we scattered sensor ghosts. The differing science officer loads even on their warships explains some of the doctrine."

"Ah," D'ellian said, "Yes, I'm afraid heavy fleet support vessels remain a low priority for the KDF currently. The focus remains on small high-speed craft. That-" she indicated the Herald staff, "Would gain acceptance from the rabble coming out of the Academies to give credence to your very real qualifications and how they relate to battle, in whatever role if you remain with the Empire"

"Well," Thraak said slowly, jaw working several times. "I had hoped to return to your service. To continue to shower ourselves with wealth and keep the value of the Empire's current, ah, policies visible."  
"Well, yes, that is my plan," D'ellian said, "But – I know what you did in Starfleet service, and you still speak of it highly. And, well, your counsel is always dear to me, but the needs of the service would always delegate you to a secondary role. The Gorn situation has been buried, but not improved. Your captaincy on an Imperial Klingon ship would be more perilous than I – would prefer. The _Mchwa_ would be a fine anchor to defense forces or 'reassurance' patrols, but a good raider spinward if you would like."

"Oh, no," Thraak said quickly, the translator indicating surprise. "No – I have no desire to command soldiers that also bring their families with, even as polite ones as the hive. But they respect good contracts, and you are the best I know. It is an old tradition, to return with something of value, a token of travels."

"One of those commonalities of those who crack the light barrier," D'ellian said, "But nonetheless." She stopped. "Thank you," she said simply. "Much of this," she gestured to her rank pins, "Were as much you as every other part of the crew. And you are always welcome aboard my ships."

"As always, Shipmaster, thank you, for taking a half-outcast prison guard and making a warrior," Thraak said. "I don't know what you saw, but I know what I saw."

"It may be the drinks," D'ellian said, "But I will ask, for once."

"One as myself – Klingon in spite of appearance, aware of both, and fiercely certain to outshine all," Thraak said, raising his glass. "Q'plah, Dahar Master."

"Q'plah, Commander, and Sensor Officer of the _Demonslayer_."

The rest of the time, and it was brief, passed in companionable silence. Soon Vert would return, with certain merchants having to be soothed, and _Demonslayer_ would return and they would return to death or glory. Now it was quiet.

* * *

This piece was oddly hard to write, and I'm not sure it quite took the shape I was anticipating. Captain Vexa is a science captain who has shown up in a couple stories. D'ellian Thraak have this strange courtly love issue, I enjoy writing it, even if I can't articulate.


End file.
